Where The Truth Lies
by laurabrownX
Summary: A cold case throws Jenny Shepard, a young Metro PD agent into Gibbs' path. But her connection to the victim is complicated and so is her personal life - and Gibbs can't afford to get involved, regardless of how he feels. AU. Jibbs.
1. Chapter 1

**Where The Truth Lies**

Summary: A cold case throws Jenny Shepard, a young Metro PD agent into Gibbs' path. But her connection to the victim is complicated, and so is her personal life – and Gibbs can't afford to get involved, regardless of how he feels. AU. Jibbs.

Author Note: Um, you may recognise this story. It used to be known as 'Vantage Point', but I took the story down, since I'd lost a lot of the motivation and ideas I'd first had when I first started writing it. However, I soon realised the problem; I felt Jenny was out of character, and so ... this is now an AU story. The case is also loosely taken from the episode 'Stalker' of Cold Case.

* * *

><p>Jenny Shepard pushed open the heavy wooden door, whilst simultaneously flicking through her mail. There wasn't much of interest; a few bills, a letter from her estranged sister, a take-out menu, and a flyer for the local yard sale that the Henderson's held every year. She had no idea how one single family could harbour so much junk, and still afford to give away so much every year, but their lawn was always littered with things they didn't want any longer.<p>

Her phone rang shrilly, interrupting the mail-flicking, and she dumped the letters onto the coffee table, digging into the pocket of her running trousers for her cellphone.

"Shepard," she announced, not bothering to even glance at caller ID. She didn't make a habit of just handing out her telephone number to anyone. It was really just the department.

"Reason you're not in the office?" came the voice of her partner, Agent Jake Bradford. She rolled her eyes, and pulled her hair from it's ponytail, already beginning the slope of the stairs, intent on a long, hot shower.

"It's my day off, Butch," she reminded him. 'Butch' was everyone's name for him. Probably because he looked like he pumped iron every morning, and he had this glare that made everyone cower. Except for her, because she'd once mentioned it made him look constipated, and now he resolutely _refused_ to use it on her whatsoever. Not that she was complaining. Despite everything, he had a good heart, and she trusted him wholly.

"You're on the rota, Shep. You sure you handed in the holiday form?" She cleared her throat, and stepped into her bathroom, turning on the water to let it run hot. Opening the airing cupboard and locating a towel, and then hunting around for her favourite shampoo and body wash. She waited him out, sure he'd come to the conclusion he had to – and wasn't disappointed. "Captain demand you take the day...?" his voice had lowered, and she suspected he wasn't alone. Silently, she thanked his discretion.

"Yeah ... he did. I'll be back in tomorrow."

"I doubt it ..." he returned, almost too quickly. She scowled absent-mindedly at her own reflection. "Don't sulk, Shep. It's just that ... I have it under good authority that that cold case you investigated a few months back? Got new evidence."

That caught her attention.

The case had been the first cold case she'd ever come across, and had hit her harder than she'd expected it to. She'd never really managed to get over the fact that they hadn't been able to solve it – even with NCIS' help.

"I'll be there in an hour," she told him, before hanging up.

But not quick enough to miss his snort of laughter on the other end.

* * *

><p>Leroy Jethro Gibbs squinted into the screen of his phone, tilting his head to the side, and then resolutely smacking it off the table. The sharp noise made both Ziva and McGee snap their heads up to watch him in his pursuit of killing the ridiculous piece of technology. Tony, however, was fast asleep on his desk – and it was only his lack of movement that alerted Gibbs of that fact. He stood up and walked over to his senior agent, ignoring the smirks from the other two members of his team.<p>

"TONY!" he bellowed, and he swore that Tony actually jumped off the seat altogether.

"Yes, Boss?"

"Tired?"

"A little ..." he noticed the small movement of Gibbs' eyebrow. "No. I'm completely awake ... just need to ... get some coffee."

"Whilst you're at it ... you can get me some too," Gibbs told him, turning to walk back to his desk. The whole agency wasn't exactly rushed off it's feet, and in order to earn their paychecks, they'd turned to cold cases that hadn't been touched in over ten years. It was mostly due to advances in technology that would solve the cases nowadays – but that didn't make them exciting to trawl through.

"Agent Gibbs." Gibbs turned his head in the direction of the voice, surprised to find Director Morrow coming from the back elevator, into the bullpen. He was in the middle of buttoning his coat up over his suit, and his security personnel were following a little behind him, indicating that he was about to leave the building.

"Sir," he nodded, standing up to meet the older man.

"I got a call from Metro earlier this morning; a case that wasn't solved six-odd months ago. Family massacre. It was Pacci's case," he said, a little quieter. Gibbs swallowed the guilt that always followed the mention of Agent Chris Pacci, and focused on the fact that Morrow was sliding a manilla folder across the table towards him. "The only survivor – Ashley Robertson awoke from her coma last night. Need you to keep me informed on this one, Jethro. I'm going to be out of town for the next few days, but when I get back, I expect a full analysis of the situation, and an update on her condition." He paused to let the information sink in, turned around and told his security to wait by the elevator, and then turned back. "Handle this with kid gloves, Gibbs. I don't want to read about any of this in the newspapers tomorrow morning ... and don't alert Metro until you're one-hundred percent positive that there's a case to go on." He nodded to indicate he was finished, pulled his coat together and picked up his briefcase from where it sat by his feet, not waiting for Gibbs to respond before he made his way to the elevator.

Gibbs flicked open the manilla folder, noting the hospital where Ashley Robertson was, and then threw the file at Ziva. "Want you to pull up that case, Ziva. Want to know every detail of the investigation when I get back. McGee," he turned and picked up the device that had been causing so much trouble recently. Then, he threw it at the younger agent, along with the keys. "Meet me out front, and fix my phone."

* * *

><p>The hospital was cold and impersonal and only served to remind him how much he <em>hated <em>hospitals. The whole place was always painted the one colour, and it was always dull. And whenever he'd been here, he'd been given bad news.

"The receptionist says that her ward is to the right, upstairs, take a left and then look for the large four painted on the wall." McGee approached, indicating down the corridor that the receptionist had referred to.

Several wrong turns, one argument, and one slightly-more-forceful-than-necessary headslap later and they reached the ward where they'd been told Ashley Robertson was resting.

Another woman was already at the receptionist desk, and Gibbs watched McGee lift a leaflet out of the stand on the desk, smirking when he read the title over the younger agent's shoulder; _The effects of head trauma._

Almost automatically, McGee reached up and rubbed the back of his head.

"You don't understand. I was on her case _before,"_ the woman at the desk in front of them was demanding. She was wearing what looked like a running outfit, her red hair tied up in a sleek ponytail.

"We were alerted that NCIS were on their way ... not Metro PD. I'm sorry, but it's against policy to let you in to see her, unless you are a relative." The receptionist did look sincerely apologetic, but the other woman was having none of it. Which was when Gibbs decided to intervene.

"Excuse me, ma'am."

"Agent Shepard."

"You're with Metro?"

His question caused her to turn around and stare at him. She had the brightest set of green eyes he'd ever seen. He was almost transfixed. "Yes. Are you ... NCIS?" She said it almost hesitantly, like she was about to be told off. "I was expecting Pacci."

Gibbs didn't take his eyes off the woman as he snapped his fingers at McGee. "McGee! Go ahead. I'll be with you in a minute." He led the woman to a more secluded section, away from the receptionist, and the couple that had been waiting in line behind him. "Agent Chris Pacci died ... few weeks ago. What's your interest in this case?"

Those mesmerising green eyes closed for a second as she heard the news, and when she opened them again, she seemed much calmer and more restrained. She stepped backwards and reached for her badge. "Jenny Shepard, Metro PD. I was the investigating officer on the case – from Metro's side. I'm ... _sorry_ to hear about Pacci. He was a good man – damn good agent." The guilt hit him again, but he blinked it away and nodded, accepting her condolences. "I heard that Ashley Robertson was awake again, wanted to check in on her, see if she was okay."

"Interrogate her?"

"No," she answered softly, her expression offended. "She woke up from a six month coma, probably has very little recollection of what happened, and you think I was gonna accuse her of killing her family?"

He shrugged, but already, he knew that she wasn't the heartless type. She was sincere, and she seemed to feel passionately about her job.

"So ... are we working on this case together? I have all the old notes, can tell you everything without you having to read through all the paperwork, and I can tell you anything that doesn't add up with the original investigation."

Gibbs looked past her to the cubicle in which he'd seen McGee disappear into, and then to the reception desk, before shrugging his shoulders.

She had a point; she would be a very valuable resource to the investigation. But he disliked joint operations, and he wasn't entirely sure he could trust the fact that she obviously was connected in some way to their victim. Plus, Director Morrow had specifically told him not to alert Metro until they had something concrete to work on.

"Fine. You're in," he concluded.

He'd never really been one for listening to authority anyways.

* * *

><p><span>Author Note:<span> I hope this works out. I hope this is at least piquing your interest in some way, and wanting you to read a little further in. :)


	2. Chapter 2

Leroy Jethro Gibbs opened his phone, looked at the caller and held it to his ear, listening as Ziva greeted him.

"I got the details of the case, Gibbs. Robertson family massacre, six months ago in Fairfax. A neighbour was dropping by and found Ian and Elizabeth Robertson dead, alongside their son Jake. Ashley, seventeen years old, was barely conscious, and they managed to get her to Bethesda. She slipped into a coma." She paused, and he could hear the monitor bleep in the background.

"Any suspects?" Gibbs asked.

"Yeah ... they were all shot with the same weapon ... the bullets matched Ian Robertson's glock, and it was found in his hand when the neighbour arrived." But that didn't add up, Gibbs surmised. Otherwise, the case would've been open and shut. Ziva seemed to read his thoughts. "The trajectory of the bullet found in Ian Robertson would have been physically impossible if he'd pulled the gun on himself. Plus, there was no gunshot residue found on his hands or his clothes. Says here that a member of Metro PD didn't think the father was involved at all."

Gibbs didn't attempt to guess who that agent was most likely to be. Didn't have to. She was standing right in front of him, tapping her foot against the linoleum floor. She turned to stare at him when she realised he was staring at her, smirked and then turned away again. Suddenly, he wanted to reach out to tuck that strand of hair behind her ear; the one that had come loose from the pristine ponytail she'd had it in.

"Find out what he did for a living, Ziva. Let me know," he hung up and turned to Jenny who was examining the leaflet McGee had lifted earlier.

"You know... I can tell you what Ian Robertson done for a living."

"Nah ... my agents have to earn their pay," he concluded with a small shrug as he propelled her in the direction of the ward they'd watched McGee disappear into.

The room was brighter than the rest of the hospital, simply due to the amount of flowers that sat on the bedside table, and the cards that had gathered beside them. A few birthday cards, get well soon cards. Several bouquets of roses, one large orchid. Her immediate family may have been killed, but that didn't necessarily mean she was alone.

Ashley Robertson herself, looked nothing like she did in the photo attached to the casefile. She was thinner, much more pale and with long, straggly-looking blonde hair. She was clearly terrified, and her eyes were red-rimmed; evidence that she'd not long ago finished crying.

"Ashley?" she nodded her head slowly. He noticed the other man sitting by her bed, half-hidden behind McGee and turned to him. He had dark, shaggy hair and was wearing hospital scrubs. "You are ...?"

"Oh, Steve Wilson," he stood up immediately and offered his hand, but Gibbs didn't take it. "I'm ... an orderly. I've been volunteering here between lectures at college. I'm doing a medical degree – I need all the experience I can get." He laughed, but realised that nobody was joining in, so immediately stopped. "I looked after Ashley when she was in her coma ..." He smiled reassuringly at the woman in the bed, who returned it hesitantly.

Gibbs nodded, and indicated he should sit back down, before turning back to the patient. "Do you remember anything about ... what happened?"

Ashley shook her head. "I ... the doctor said I'd suffered severe head trauma, and that my memory might never fully come back. I'm going to a councillor tomorrow ... to see if that helps."

"Do you remember anything before that night?" She shook her head again, tears beginning to fall. Jenny, in a movement that surprised Gibbs, slid her chair forwards and reached for Ashley's hand.

"It's okay ... you don't have to be frightened. Do you remember the school you went to?"

"Yeah ... I ... we'd just moved to Fairfax ... my Dad ... he was given this work opportunity and my Mom ... she loved the new house. Jake and I, we were annoyed. We had friends, and social lives, and they were moving us away from it all."

"Okay, that's good that you remember that. Did you make new friends when you moved?"

"I ... I don't know," she whispered, her throat closing and fresh tears beginning to fall.

"It's okay ... what about ... names?" She coaxed. Gibbs watched her interact with Ashley, realising that Jenny Shepard was a much better agent than he'd expected. She was patient, and clearly passionate towards her cases. She had a connection with the teenager, that was clear. Ashley managed a few people's names, which Gibbs wrote down on his notepad, before she snapped her head up to look at Jenny.

"I remember ... Romeo. I don't know if that means something ... I just, I remember him."

"What he looks like?" McGee piped up, launching himself on the only solid piece of information they had. "Did you meet him?"

"No ... but I ... I knew of him, I'm sure." She groaned, frustrated. "I ... maybe I'm wrong. Maybe his name wasn't Romeo," she dropped her head onto the top of her knees, which had been pulled back against her chest. The sobs began to rack her whole body and Steve, who'd been quietly witnessing the display, suddenly stood up.

"I think that's enough. She's tired, stressed. Exhausted. Can we continue this another day?"

Gibbs nodded, ushering McGee out in front of him. Steve followed them out, but Jenny stayed inside.

"Her memory comes and goes. When she woke last night, she knew her family were dead, but not the circumstances surrounding it ..."

Gibbs tilted his head, examining the younger man. There was something about the way he referred to Ashley that held a degree of care and respect. "How long have you known Ashley?" he asked.

Steve shrugged. "She was the first patient I dealt with. I was green and naïve and thought that nothing bad ever really happened in the world. When I first began studying medicine, it occurred to me that life is a lot harsher than what I'd originally thought. I ... became nervous, unsure. It was at my lecturer's suggestion that I ended up here. Ashley had just been brought in, bullet wound, head trauma. They weren't even sure she would make it," he trailed off, lost in memories. "I nursed her back to health – as much as one can when their patient is in a coma. I was in charge of changing her drips, and moving her limbs around to stop her muscles becoming useless. I used to read to her, because nobody else came to visit her. I guess I got a little attached."

"Nobody visited her whatsoever?" McGee questioned, his eyebrows going up in surprise. Gibbs had to admit that the information surprised him too, considering the flowers and cards he'd seen inside the room.

"Well ... no family. Mr Reed and his son sometimes come up – he was the Robertson's neighbour; he found the family that .. night. A few people from school used to come up, but gradually, they stopped."

Gibbs nodded his thanks and turned away, in time to see Jenny rejoin the group. McGee filled her in on what Steve had told them, as he flipped open his phone and called the office.

"Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo here. How may I be of assistance?"

"DiNozzo!"

"Oh, hey, Boss! Was just wondering where you and McGee had ... never mind."

"Need you and Ziva to locate the neighbour that found the Robertson's ... pay him a visit and see what he has to say."

"What are you going to do, Boss?"

But the other man had already hung up.

* * *

><p>"Where did Agent McGee go?" Jenny asked as she looked around the cafeteria, and found it empty. Gibbs shrugged. "So ... what do you want to know?"<p>

"What makes you think I wanna know somethin'?" he asked. She tilted her head to the side, her ponytail shifting with the small head movement, and making the ends sit lightly against her shoulder. She raised and eyebrow, and smirked. "You associate with the victim?"

"You're fishing for information," she concluded. When he didn't deny it, she muffled a laugh into her coffee cup. "I don't know you well enough to tell you that."

"If it's important to the case..."

"It's not."

It was at that moment that he pinpointed just what it was about her that interested him so much. She had secrets, she knew her place and she understood that sometimes people didn't want to air their dirty laundry to just _anyone_. And if she understood that, she wasn't going to pry into his private life. Not to mention, she was beautiful. Everyone knew of his like for red hair, but hers was darker ... like burnt copper. And thicker. From what he could tell of her running outfit, she kept herself in shape, and she had a damn good set of legs. Not that he'd been looking.

"I have to go. If you get new information on the case ..."

"I'll let you know," he told her, his gaze locking on hers. Sensing the importance in making it clear that he wasn't about to investigate this case behind her back. She slid a card towards him.

"My number. Call me ..." she hesitated almost a moment too long, and he allowed himself to smile genuinely, "if you ... need to."

"Uh ... huh."

* * *

><p>"Will you stop complaining?" Ziva asked Tony as they climbed out of the car.<p>

"I have never been so happy to see land," he exclaimed dramatically, slamming the door shut and glaring at her over the top of the car. "You almost drove off the side of a bridge!"

"But I _didn't_ and I wouldn't have been anywhere near that side of the bridge if the lorry hadn't been in the wrong lane!"

"The lorry was in the right lane!"  
>"It was in the <em>left!<em>" Tony groaned as he grabbed his bag and slung it over a shoulder, making his way up the path to the house of Carlson Reed. He knocked on the door, and it was answered quickly, by a man who looked to be the same age as Tony himself. He raised an eyebrow.

"Agent's DiNozzo and David; NCIS. We're here to talk about the Robertson's?"

His face sobered instantly, and he opened the door wider, letting them into the brightly-lit hallway. "Has there been an advancement?"

"Ashley Robertson is awake. As of last night." His eyes lit up and he smiled.

"She's okay? Thank God ..." he suddenly frowned. "Then what do you want with me?"

Tony trailed around the living room, examining the photos that sat across the mantelpiece. "I just need to know you're recollection of the events, Mr Reed."

He nodded, and indicated for them both to sit on the sofa, whilst he anchored himself into the chair opposite. "Well ... every morning, I used to take my son to school, and he was friends with Jake ... they were about the same age. I thought it was only polite to take Ashley too. That morning, we'd been running a little late, so I dropped in to apologise, but nobody answered the door. It was open, which isn't uncommon on a naval base, but ... they'd just moved to the area, and it seemed strange for them to keep their door unlocked through the night." He paused, frowning. "They were ... just lying there. Elizabeth and Ian on the sofa in the sitting room, Jake in the sitting room too. Ashley was in the kitchen – she ... she was moving when I found her. I called an ambulance straight away."

"Where was the weapon ...?"

"It ... it was in Ian Robertson's hand. But I don't think he killed his family."

"And why is that?" Ziva asked

"I don't know ... he was always really ... _nice._ Pleasant. Always said good morning, he loved his family. Any moment when he could be with them, he was. When he was deployed, his wife used to say he'd call when ever he could. Even tried the satellite feed thing. He even wrote letters to his children if he wasn't able to make a phone call."

"Doesn't mean he didn't kill them."

"No ... I guess not."

"Dad, have you seen my -" The different voice cause Tony to turn around. The boy standing in the doorway looked around thirteen. He was tall, and gangly and awkward-looking. He narrowed his eyes at Tony. "Who are you?"

"Son ... these people are from NCIS, they're here to talk about the Robertson's..."

"Why? They died almost a year ago ..."

"Do you know anyone who had it in for Ashley Robertson ... or her brother, ..." Tony trailed off, realising he didn't know the boy's name.

"Sam," he supplied, stepping forwards. "No. Jake was popular the minute he walked through the doors of the school. Ashley ... was quiet. Nobody really spoke to her that much," he shrugged. "There was this one guy ..."

Ziva raised her eyebrow. "One guy?"

"Yeah ... his name was Adam Doyle. Real idiot. He liked her though."

"He was her boyfriend, then?" Tony concluded, moving forwards.

The boy shrugged again; his signature move, it seemed. "When we were going to school once, she was texting him. He sent all these messages, flirting with her. But he was a giant d -" He stopped and shot his dad a side-glance. "He was a jerk. And he chased girls. Not just her."

* * *

><p>"How'd it go?" Gibbs asked as he watched Tony and Ziva walk into the squad room.<p>

Tony flung his bag beneath his desk and shrugged off his jacket. "Carson Reed's story checks out. What he says is what the report basically says. His son, Sam? He says that there was a boy Ashley was into – Adam Doyle. He was a player though ... liked to date more than one girl ..."

"So what? Maybe Ashley rejected him and he couldn't let it go?" McGee asked, sceptical. "Just because he's an idiot, doesn't mean he's a murderer."

Gibbs looked between the two men in his team, not willing to listen in on an argument. "But maybe he's Romeo – and that's a start. Bring him in."


	3. Chapter 3

Gibbs stepped out of the elevator, two coffees in his hand. Spotting the head of red hair that was unfortunately sitting behind his desk.

"Comfortable?" he asked, raising his eyebrows at Jenny Shepard who returned his gaze without hesitation.

"Yeah ... thanks," she returned, taking the hint and then ignoring it altogether. Remaining firmly in his chair and then taking the coffee he offered her when he realised that she wasn't scared or intimidated by him. "My ...uh, my partner at Metro .. you two would get on _really_ well."

"That so?"

"Mmhmm, he has this ... glare." She paused, snorted and then turned away as Tony approached them both. He ushered them over to the monitor in the centre of the room, where McGee was already standing.

"Okay, let's run through this again," the younger agent began. "Gunnery Sergeant Ian Robertson and his wife and son were found dead in the sitting room."

"Gun was found in his hand."

"I don't think Ian Robertson killed his family. Think about it ... why did he leave Ashley in the kitchen when she was shot? Why not take her into the sitting room to die with the rest of them? And he had no gunshot residue on his clothes, or his hands."

Gibbs agreed with her, and had to admit to being impressed with her analysis of the situation, and the fact that she'd backed up her opinion with evidence. Not that he planned on telling her – at least, not yet.

"What about Elizabeth?" Gibbs asked. "What does she do for a living?"

Tony clicked the remote control to bring up a picture of her driving licence. "Elizabeth Robertson is a middle-school teacher for a private school in the centre of Georgetown. Woah, middle-school teachers get pay like _this_?" Tony asked, his eyes glued to the folder. He passed it to McGee who took one look and raised his eyebrows, his eyes widening.

"They do when you're teaching private ..." Jenny replied. Whatever she was going to say afterwards died on her lips, because the sound coming from the far end of the bullpen caused them all to turn towards it.

Ziva David, with her tiny frame and five-foot four build, shoved Adam Doyle along the corridor. She paused when she realised they were staring at her, and smiled reassuringly before continuing on her pursuit to get him to interrogation. Gibbs snorted. Tony looked like he'd just imagined the whole thing. Jenny looked extremely impressed.

"She was with Mossad," Gibbs explained to her as she turned and raised an eyebrow at him. He could almost see the respect Jenny had for Ziva grow.

* * *

><p>Arrogant, vain and with far too much to say for himself, Adam Doyle slouched in his seat, fixing his hair and his tie, then checking himself in the mirror dividing interrogation and observation.<p>

"I don't know why I'm here ..." he stated, addressing Ziva – ignoring Tony altogether. She shrugged as she straddled a seat and opened the manilla folder on top of the table. "Look, if this is about the parking tickets ... there's only three. And I ... I can pay them right now if you -" She put up a hand to stop him mid-sentence.

"We are not here to discuss parking tickets. We are here to talk about Ashley Robertson."

He straightened immediately, transforming from childish frat-boy to concerned friend in a second. "She hasn't ..." he trailed off, exhaling.

"Died?" Tony finished. "No. No ... she hasn't died, Adam. She has no memory whatsoever though. But cha know what? She remembers someone called Romeo. And we have it on good authority that you were very... interested in her." Tony circled behind him. A classic case of good cop, bad cop.

"Ashley ... she moved to our school half-way through our senior year. Smartest girl that I ever came across. A's across the board, without even having to try," he began. He bit his lip and ran a hand through his hair. "My mum and dad, they pushed me at school. Wanted me to be the best. In the beginning, she was only tutoring me in English. She made things easier, y'know?"

"You ... admired her."

"Yeah, I guess I did. But, I was shallow in high school, and my friends didn't think she was as great as I did. She wasn't _like_ the others girl we hung out with." Tony snorted, but Ziva shot him a glare that caused a muted apology. "When I found out about her and her family ... I tried to visit – once I even made it into the ward. But ..." he trailed off, and the interrogation room went silent.

"So, you _were_ Romeo, then?" Ziva confirmed, but he shook his head. His demeanour changing, his body language clearly uncomfortable.

"No."

"You knew him though?" Tony guessed correctly. "Maybe someone else _admired_ that smart girl the way you did. Except he wasn't stupid enough to let her go."

Adam Doyle grit his teeth together. "Ash and I ... we used to meet at the lockers between classes. One day, we were standing there, and she opened her lockers and a letter fell out. From _Romeo_. She swore she'd never heard of him before, but I'm not an idiot. She was cheating on me."

"You weren't dating though ... so she wasn't cheating on you ..."

"This Romeo guy was writing her love letters. I was pissed at her, said some things I regret saying ..."

Ziva leant forwards. "You ever find out who Romeo was?"

Adam shook his head. "I think ... I think that Ashley was telling the truth when she said she didn't know who he was ..." He sighed. "I didn't ever meet him. I heard they talked a lot through emails ..."

* * *

><p>Jenny turned to Gibbs in observation. "I believe him. And, if Ashley and Romeo spoke through emails, couldn't we just trace them. Or better yet, we still have the evidence in the locker ... we could hack her computer."<p>

Gibbs turned to McGee. "You know how to do that?"

McGee nodded. "Yeah ... I ... may need to do it from Abby's lab though. If you get the computer, I can use this program that we created on the Dunn case."

Gibbs nodded and moved towards the door, turning back and crooking his finger at Jenny to get her to follow him.

* * *

><p>Jenny Shepard was, by all means, small. Dainty was maybe a better word. The only thing that managed to make her a good few inches taller than she was, was her heels. She'd gone home to shower and change from her running gear a few hours previous, and had come in wearing tailored pants, a scarlet sweater and black heels that looked – at least, to him – extremely uncomfortable. In fact, when she walked, it was hard to tell she was even wearing them.<p>

He remembered going out to dinner with Diane once, where she had gone to the extent of wearing heels and a beautiful dress, only to be complaining the entire night about how sore her feet were.

However, Jenny was a different matter.

And she was a damn good agent, he'd discovered. Great at profiling suspects, and apparently a good shot, if her record was anything to go by. She held herself with confidence, and had a smirk that made him seriously consider teasing her further in order to see it again. She was quiet when she was observing interrogations, focusing entirely before coming to a judgement, and then coming up with her opinions and evidence to back them up.

And there was his proverbial Achilles' Heel – his weakness – that goddamn hair. Some woman didn't suit the colour, and the personality that went along with it, but she wasn't one of them. Apparently, she could be fiery and passionate. A ragged pursuit of a suspect on another case in her file had confirmed that for him. Plus, she had this way of _wearing_ her hair. It was always with a slight wave, either when sleekly pulled back, like earlier, or sitting like it was now; a waterfall over her shoulders and her back, with absolutely no presence of being neat – it looked as though she'd ran her hands through it several times.

"Do I have something on my face?" came her amused voice, and when he blinked his eyes back into focus, he realised he must've been staring at her. He smirked and tilted his head, his eyes dancing.

"Nope." His blunt honestly and the insinuation made her blush and she ducked her gaze, yanking harder on the ladder in order to pull it closer to the shelf where their evidence box was sitting.

"I got it, Jen." She would've been amused by the shortened version of her name, had she not been surprised by the fact that he simply lifted the ladder and moved it himself. The muscles in his arms flexed as he began to mount the steps, reaching out for the box and taking the laptop from it. "Here." He handed the laptop to her and took the last few steps down the ladder, brushing his hands on the lapels of his jacket.

"Such a gentleman," she teased, helping him push the ladder back to where they'd seen it. He laughed, and placed his hand on the small of her back to lead her from the evidence locker, making sure they logged out the piece of evidence in the log book before stepping inside the elevator.

He flipped the switch halfway up, and turned to her.

"Dinner, tonight."

She frowned, and stepped back, the invite having taken her by surprise. "Excuse me?"

"You, me, dinner."

"Are you trying to ask me out?" her naïve curiosity made him smile. And of course, the word 'trying'.

"Uh-huh," he drawled.

"Oh ... " She flipped the switch and let the elevator ride up to its destination, the door sliding open to reveal the bullpen. She made a move to walk away but he grabbed her wrist.

"You didn't answer my question ..."

She grinned, pulled her arm from his grip and walked away, shrugging. "I guess dinner's okay ..."

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><p><span>Author Note:<span> Thank you for all the lovely reviews. :)


	4. Chapter 4

Jenny Shepard flopped onto the sofa in her sitting room, resting one hand over her abdomen and the other behind her head. She was absolutely shattered, drained of all energy. She'd been existing on only coffee since twelve that afternoon, and whilst not only trying to find new angles on the Robertson case she was working with NCIS, she'd had to investigate another two cases with Metro. Paperwork was beginning to pile up and when it had reached five o'clock, Butch had sent her home, claiming he'd get more work done if he wasn't constantly mainlining her caffeine. She couldn't exactly dispute the fact.

There was a little more than an hour until her date with Jethro, and honestly, she didn't know what to expect. She hadn't expected him to ask her out at all, and when he had, she'd been overwhelmed and flattered. But he didn't seem like the fancy restaurant type, and she wasn't sure what to wear.

A bubble bath was definitely in order, to get her to relax. After styling her hair, and locating appropriate underwear, she browsed through her options. Her wardrobe was simple; most of it was clothes she wore to the office. Right in the back was a hideous dress her mother had bought her years ago, and other than that were a few pairs of jeans, and some running clothes. She opted for the jeans and found a top she'd liked the look of a few months ago. It was an orange-pink colour, and had a few ruffles around the neck. Nothing particularly fancy, but dressy enough – she hoped. A black pair of heels were customary, and she applied a little make-up for the occasion. She'd only had time to spray a bit of perfume when the doorbell rang.

"Nice timing, I'd just -" she paused, taking in his attire. He looked like he'd just come out of work – not that she was particularly bothered. He held up a hand which had a paper bag in it, and waved it around, letting the smell drift towards her. "We're ... eating ... here?" she asked, tilting her head to the side, slightly bemused.

"Uh-huh .."

"Oh. Okay. Come in," she pulled the door open and let him in to the hallway, taking his coat from him, though he shook his head and hung it up himself. "When you said dinner, I expected we'd go out ..."

"We still can ..." he shrugged.

"No, I don't mind. You want a drink?" He nodded and she indicated where the kitchen was, before leaving to search for the alcohol. She located bourbon in her study, and poured two glasses, deciding to lift the bottle in case they wanted more later.

When she rejoined him, he'd somehow managed to locate her plates and cutlery and had set out dinner. He looked thankful when she handed him bourbon, and she smiled; not many people liked the alcohol, thinking it was too strong. The fact that he seemed to love it was definitely a pro versus con.

* * *

><p>The dinner was amazing, and he enjoyed listening to her speak. She was unlike most women in the case that she didn't talk constantly. Only when asked a question, or when something occurred to her. She didn't talk to fill the silence, and he liked that. He also liked the fact that he was able to see her without her work attire on. She seemed much more relaxed somehow, and the jeans she was wearing made her legs look like they went on forever. He'd never really considered himself a 'leg man' but for some reason, hers were catching his attention. Maybe it was those damn heels that added a swing to her hips.<p>

"How'd you end up at Metro?" he asked, out of the blue. She placed her cutlery down on her plate and pushed it away, satisfied. She wasn't big on the eating, and already she'd had more than she normally would've. She seemed to take her time in answering his question, swirling the bourbon in her glass and then taking a sip. Keeping her eyes on the table.

"When I was ten, my father died in a car accident. The man that hit him was half-cut and high. Metro investigated." He hadn't been expecting that, and by the look on her face, she hadn't been expecting to reveal quite as much. Something about the fact that she had, endeared him. "The officer in charge became my mentor when I was old enough to join the academy. He was like a second father to me." She smiled at the mention of the man and shrugged. "My sister and I went to stay with our mother, I grew up knowing exactly what I wanted to do with my life." She laughed suddenly, looking up at him. "This isn't exactly dinner conversation. I'm sorry."

He shrugged it off, not finding it necessary to tell her his rule about apologies being signs of weakness. Instead, he lifted his own drink and laughed, before taking a sip. "Didn't know you had a sister."

The way her eyes darkened suddenly, and her shoulders tensed, indicated that her sister was grounds she wasn't willing to cover tonight. There was certainly a story there, but he wasn't going to push her.

He'd invited her out to dinner, initially to see why she was so attracted to this case. He was pretty sure now, after hearing only a part of her past, why she sympathised with the victim; they'd both lost people they cared about, they'd both been young. But after seeing her like this, taking the time to talk to her and enjoy her company, he'd realised that he was more than curious about her. He was attracted to her too. And it wasn't just the legs or the hair.

She lifted the bottle of bourbon off the table and sloshed some more into both their glasses.

"What about you? How'd you end up in NCIS?"

He bit his lip, and decided that telling half the truth would be okay. "They helped me out. I owed 'em." That, in itself, was enough for her. She smiled and fluttered her eyelashes, lowering her gaze again. He swore he saw a faint blush scatter across her cheeks.

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><p>"Thank you, for dinner," she said softly as she walked him out to the car. After dinner they'd talked a little more, he'd told her about his team, and she'd laughed at his descriptions. The end of the night had come in quick, and she'd been shocked by the time when he'd announced he had to go.<p>

He reached for the handle of his car door, only pausing when she grabbed his wrist. "I was thinking that we could go back to the hospital tomorrow ... after Ashley's councilling, and see if it's helped with anything."

He focused on her, and nodded. Unable to prevent the smirk when she realised she was still holding onto him, and let him go like he'd burnt her. She turned away and stepped back, allowing him the space to step into his car. She certainly didn't expect him to step closer, distracting her by touching her wrist gently and then tilting her head up to kiss him.

He kissed _exactly_ like she expected him to; the right side of forceful, and he damn well knew what he was doing. She gasped when he finally released her, her lungs burning from lack of oxygen and couldn't help but smile when he looked impressed with himself.

"Goodnight, Jethro."

"Night ... Jen." She turned and began to walk away when he called her back. "You know ... if you, uh, if you ever need me ... all you have to do is say 'hey', and I'll be there."

Her eyes seemed to sparkle in the moonlight, and the smile that had been on her face dissolved slowly. She looked at him like she was troubled, broken. And then the smile returned.

He wasn't good with words, or with offering his support. And he wasn't entirely sure that she'd ever really need him. But he sensed a lack of support in her life, and wanted to reassure her that he was there. Because this case wasn't easy, and the results may not be easy to deal with.

Whatever it was, he knew this was going faster than expected. 

* * *

><p>The hospital was remarkably quiet, considering it was a weekday, and it was relatively easy getting parked. They navigated the corridors with much more ease the second time around, and the nurse behind the reception desk let them in without much argument.<p>

Ashley Robertson looked much healthier than she had the day before. As she told Jenny of her councilling session, Gibbs looked around.

"Where's your carer?" He thought for his name. "Steve?"

Ashley smiled. "He is out-of-town for the week. His grandmother got really sick over the weekend, and he went down to visit her. She lives in Florida."

Jenny nodded, launching into a line of questions. Ashley seemed to really respond to her, smiling slightly at some of the stories Jenny told her. She was still withdrawn, scared and shaken, but little-by-little she was coming out of her shell. Maybe starting to remember.

"How did councilling go?" Jenny asked gently.

Ashley shrugged. "It was okay. The doctor I spoke with is really nice. I couldn't be of much help though."

Jenny nodded sympathetically. "Don't worry. She's not being paid depending on how much you remember. Just relax and it will come to you. We ... we spoke with an Adam Doyle, do you remember him?"

"Yeah," she frowned. "I remember him. I tutored him, right?" When Jenny nodded, Ashley copied her. "He asked me out, but wanted to keep it secret. Douchebags don't date nerds apparently." She shrugged in a typical couldn't-care-less type of attitude. Gibbs frowned, unfamiliar with the term 'douchebag' but able to draw his own conclusions from the context. Jenny outright laughed.

"None of that matters when you leave high school," Jenny comforted her. "He said you got a letter from someone. It was inside your locker ..." When Ashley didn't appear to remember, she continued, hoping that one word in her sentences would spark a memory. "And you spoke with someone online? On a chat website?"

Ashley shook her head, her memory completely blank. She squeezed her eyes closed tightly and then opened them, looking heavenward to prevent the flow of tears from running down her cheeks.

Jenny reached out and squeezed her shoulder gently. "Don't worry, we'll get there. You remembered Romeo, didn't you? The details, they'll slowly trickle into you're brain again. Just ... just relax."

Ashley nodded, her tears still threatening to fall, and brushed her blonde hair from her face. "It's ... frustrating. I ... I ... miss them." Her voice tore at Jenny. She exchanged a look with Gibbs who looked as though he was far away. And made the choice to reach out for the young girl and embrace her. It was probably unprofessional, but at that moment, Jenny couldn't have cared less. When she pulled back, she looked at Jenny, rubbing the tears away from under her eyes. "I ... I do remember something. A card, with the word Romeo on it. And, and a rose."

"He gave you a rose?"

"No ... he left it for me? I think." She sniffed and shook her head. "I'm sure he left it for me ..."

Jenny watched Gibbs move slowly, standing up from his chair and moving back towards the door. She thought he was going to leave, but he turned instead to the wooden unit that sat just inside the room. Lifting a small piece of card off the dresser.

He held it up for Jenny to see. Romeo's signature was sprawled across it in fancy calligraphy. She almost gasped when Gibbs lifted a dark red rose and held it up to the light.

"It's a message," he said, whipping out his cellphone.

* * *

><p>"I'm just gonna put this out there ... but do you think the Boss and the gorgeous redhead from Metro have anything goin' on?" Tony DiNozzo asked. McGee rolled his eyes.<p>

"Don't you have more to do than play matchmaker for Gibbs, Tony?"

"Au contraire, McProbius. I'm hoping that you and Miss Mossad over there will argue with me, convince me otherwise, and then I can ask her out."

"She's too classy for you, Tony," Ziva responded, without looking up from her computer screen. Tony scoffed as though the idea was preposterous, but was saved from responding by the ringing of his phone.

"DiNozzo," he answered, in lieu of greeting. "Oh, hey, Boss."

"You busy, DiNozzo?"

"Um, yeah ... I'm running checks on the Robertson case. Trying to get in touch with some of Ian Robertson's team. See if he had any anger or possessive issues going on. Not completely ruling out the father-suicide thing yet."

"Well, drop it. Need you to get to Bethesda, now. Security detail for Ashley Robertson. We believe that Romeo is in DC and he's waiting until we're outta here to get to her."

"On it, Boss."

When he'd hung up the telephone, he smirked. "I get to be security detail ... leaving all the paperwork up to you two. Have fun!" he called over his shoulder as he made for the elevator. McGee looked positively outraged, but Ziva was smirking.

"How is it that he slacks off, whilst we have to work twice as hard to cover his ass?"

"Relax, McGee," Ziva told him, approaching Tony's desk with curiosity. She opened the first drawer and pulled out a little notepad, smirking as she flicked through it. "Ah, I believe I've found Tony's little green book."

"It's little black book, Ziva."

Ziva frowned, and wiggled the notepad. "No ... it's green." The other agent let it slide and approached, reading the list of women's names and telephone numbers over the Israeli's shoulder. He grinned; they could have fun with this.

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><p><span>Author Note:<span> Thank you again, for all the reviews. You guys have been **awesome!** :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5.**

Author Note: Thank you so much for the reviews, they're lovely. :) Um, I'd beware of the rating for this chapter.

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><p>Ashley Robertson had been reduced to a quivering wreck by the time that Tony finally arrived at the hospital. She was petrified; someone, after all, had been watching her, waiting until she was alone to let her know they were there.<p>

Jenny had tried to comfort her, but there wasn't much she could say or do. She felt guilty for having been happily having dinner the previous night with a man she was more than just a little attracted to, whilst this poor girl had had some stalker preying on her.

And she could tell Gibbs felt the same way. Which was maybe why he was so pissed; they'd both taken their eyes of the case.

"Get lost, DiNozzo?" he didn't look up from his paper to address his senior field agent, but Tony's huffing and panting was a give away that he was there.

"Sorry Boss," he apologised immediately. "DC traffic, couldn't find the ward – this place is hard to navigate – and then the nurse didn't believe I was in NCIS because of that dodgy ID photo ..." he trailed off, realising that his Boss didn't particularly care.

"Need you to watch her. Do _not_ take her eyes off of her, DiNozzo," his voice began to get rougher, more aggressive. "This bastard is playing us. Nurse at reception said that nobody was in outside of visiting hours, and that no-one whatsoever came in to see Ashley last night, except for the nurses - who all check out. Only one exit out of this ward, same way in. He'd have had to have passed reception ..."

"Okay. So, I just sit here, protect her. How long?"

Gibbs pulled Jenny out of her chair and steered her forwards in front of him, turning towards Tony with his parting shot: "until we wrap this up."

* * *

><p>"You know ... you're very forceful when you want to be."<p>

It had been one of the most random comments to ever come out her mouth, and for a second, Gibbs wondered if she was even talking to him. Before reminding himself that they were in an elevator, alone, and there was nobody else she _could_ be speaking to.

He frowned, unsure of when he'd been forceful to her. She smirked when she saw his expression. "Don't be offended, I think it's kinda hot..." she added with a shrug.

"Uh...huh..."

The doors opened a few floors shy of theirs and a woman stepped on, dressed in a cream coat, and clearly ready to leave the building. Gibbs smiled in acknowledgement at her, and then turned to look at Jenny, almost ready to say something. The woman got off the elevator two floors later, and left them alone again.

"Forceful?" he asked.

She snorted. "Yep."

As if to prove his point he turned towards her and pushed her up against the elevator wall. She gasped in surprise, completely taken aback, and wincing as the metal handrail dug into the base of her spine. His hands moved over her ribcage to her hips, pinning there as his mouth moved closer and closer to hers. She tilted her head, and smirked, closing the gap quickly.

He was a damn good kisser.

When he let her go, she was actually breathless. "Jesus Christ ..." she gasped, her lungs burning. He looked far too proud of himself. He stepped back and resumed his position, waiting for the elevator to arrive at their floor. She stared at him. "That's it?"

"Yup." Was his only response as he walked out.

* * *

><p>"<em>Mah-Gee,"<em> Gibbs prompted as he walked into the bullpen.

McGee sat up, taking the hint and waiting until Jenny joined them before he began to read his findings aloud. "I don't think it was Ashley and Romeo speaking on the computer." That was his bombshell. Gibbs waited. He wasn't a patient man, but he knew his team, and he knew that when they had the right access to information, he would be rewarded with what he wanted. "I managed to find the chat sessions, but when I read through them, there were ... things that didn't read right. She didn't sound like a seventeen-year old." Jenny frowned.

"What does that mean?"

"Well, I'm an author, and as part of my book releases, I go to a lot of seminars and things on wording. On phrasing. There's little things that you can change that make you sound more distinguished, more ... grown-up. Especially if you're writing a book designed for older readers."

"What does that mean, McGee? Ashley couldn't have written the letters?"

McGee paused and bit his lip. Thinking through his sentence before he said it. "Ashley is a very smart girl, it says so in her file. However, when I browsed further into the computer's hard-drive, I uncovered things like sick letters, and short stories, and class programs that had been written – by Elizabeth Robertson. She writes just like the person in the chats."

Jenny snapped her gaze to Gibbs. "It was Elizabeth chatting to Romeo on the internet?"

Gibbs didn't say anything, but his jaw clenched tightly and he looked about ready to punch something. "Print off the chat sessions, McGee. Need a psychological evaluation."

McGee nodded. "You sending them to Ducky?"

Jenny smirked. "Ducky?" she was almost amused. However, she'd already come across a frat-boy senior agent, a former-Mossad Israeli, a happy goth who spoke to her mass spectrometer, an MIT-graduate with unbelievable computer skills, and their Boss who mainlined caffeine. Someone named Ducky was hardly a surprise.

Gibbs nodded, walking ahead of her in the direction of the elevator. Shouting over his shoulder. "Time for you to meet our medical examiner."

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><p>Ducky was much like the rest of Gibbs' team; unusual but charming, aware of his own talents and perfectly able to use them. Currently, he was sitting at an empty metal gurney, the printouts of the conversations spread out in front of him. He occasionally made noises of understanding or disagreement, but he mostly stayed silent.<p>

Gibbs was using his time to lie on another metal gurney, his head resting on a roll of tissue paper he'd acquired. Jenny, however, was pottering around, unsure of what to do with herself.

She took the time to think. She'd began thinking about ways to solve the case she was working with Metro. She thought about calling Butch and checking up on him; unaccustomed to spending this much time away from the man that was like an annoying older brother. Then her mind had jumped to Gibbs, and the way he'd kissed her in the elevator. Then thinking about him made her want him, so she stopped that. The 'relationship' – if she could even call it that – was complicated. There were things she hadn't told him, things that she probably should've. Things about her sister, about the reason she rarely trusted people. And she sensed it within him too. He changed the subject whenever Jenny spoke of Pacci – not that she did all that often, but she'd liked him and had been saddened to hear that he had died. He didn't ever talk about himself, or his past. She didn't want to push him, but she certainly wasn't about to spill her guts without anything from him; that was a vulnerability she just couldn't afford.

"You nearly done, Duck?" Gibbs' voice made her snap out of her thoughts, and focus on the medical examiner, who looked positively worried.

"Jethro ... have you read through these yet?"

"Nope. Didn't have time. You find somethin' interestin'?" Gibbs moved off the gurney, and Jenny joined them to see what the older man had found.

"Interesting? Insightful is more likely. Scary. In my opinion, Elizabeth began these chats through vanity; flattered by the fact that somebody younger than her wanted to associate and interact and get to know her. We already know that her husband was deployed quite often – she no doubt became lonely and only wanted some companionship."

"He turned it into something more sinister?"

"Yes. He seems to verge on obsession and then reel himself in several times, especially when Elizabeth seems unsure of doing whatever he asks her to. But look at this," he held up one sheet of paper. "He wanted to meet up, she refused. He asked for a picture of her, she sent him a picture of her daughter – but I don't think that she had bad intentions. I think she was just ... insecure."

Gibbs shrugged. "She was a woman in her early forties, pretending to be a seventeen-year old. Insecure or not, it's wrong."

"That may be so, but Jethro ... that's not what is worrying me."

Jenny frowned and stepped closer. "What's worrying you, Doctor Mallard?"

"Oh, dear – call me Ducky, _please._" His smile was so genuine that Jenny couldn't help but return it. "In this conversation, she says: _"How dare you? You scared my entire family! You broke into my home and posted photos all over the house! And leaving that note? What were you thinking?" _He then responds with how much he wishes he could speak to her face-to-face and how he feels about her, saying that was why he left the rose."

"The rose and the note; what was left at the hospital," Gibbs concluded with a nod. He turned to Jenny, about to suggest returning to the hospital when he caught a look at her face. She'd paled to the colour of most of the bodies that came through this morgue. "Jen?" He was beside her in a second, his hand holding onto her elbow and steering her towards a chair. "You okay?"

She looked up at him, her eyes terrified. "He broke into the Robertson's house and left photos all over it. Photos of _Ashley_, not Elizabeth. She must've been terrified." She swallowed, as Gibbs processed what she meant. He hadn't been thinking about the photos being different, but now that she mentioned it, Gibbs realised she was correct.

He turned to Ducky. "Elizabeth would've had to have come clean to her husband."

"Surely a confession like that would've made him furious ..."

Gibbs bit his lip and walked towards the autopsy doors, his mind on one thing only; this whole case kept coming back to Ian Robertson.

* * *

><p>The bullpen was dark when he'd finally sent McGee and Ziva home. Both had been staring at him for a good twenty minutes and it was beginning to irritate him. He'd been poring over the case details all evening, desperate to find a piece of information he'd missed. Jenny hadn't shown her face again, though he'd heard that she'd gone back to Metro, finished some paperwork and caught up with her partner, before returning to spend some time with Ducky.<p>

He didn't know what it meant that she was so good with all of his team. Nobody had a bad word to say about her; even Abby had hugged him and told him that of all the people he'd dated, she liked Jenny the best. He hadn't even had the good grace to be slightly offended at her presumption of his sex life.

Jenny Shepard, however, was a woman that he was still in the midst of trying to figure out.

Speak of the devil.

He watched her walk Ducky to the elevators and bid him goodnight, before joining him at his desk. He eyed her as she slid onto his desk.

"Hi," was all she said. Smirking.

"Hi yourself."

"What have you been doing with yourself?" She raised an eyebrow, a teasing look flickering in those unbelievably green eyes. He shrugged, glad she was back to her old self after her mini breakdown in autopsy earlier.

"Just looking over the case ..." he replied, rolling his neck on his shoulders and wincing. She nodded and slipped off the desk, squeezing herself behind him to rub his shoulders. By accident, he groaned, and then grinned when she stalled at the sound.

If she wasn't in law enforcement, he was pretty sure she could've gotten a job as a masseuse. After merely two minutes of her massaging, his pain was gone and all the tension had disappeared. It could've been her presence alone that distracted him from the pain, however. Because suddenly, he was more than aware of her. The smell of her perfume, her dainty hands working his muscles and her body pressed against his back.

She moved her hands to the base of his neck and worked her thumbs into the muscles there, making him groan for a second time. This time she actually stopped, removing her hands from him altogether.

He opened his eyes, turning towards her, and was almost assaulted by her lips as she began to kiss him. Her eyes were dark, full of lust, and it was hard not to react to her when she was so _there_. He pulled her onto his lap, moving his lips to her neck, nibbling, biting, triumphant when she omitted the noise this time.

He plunged his hands into her hair, tugging gently before letting them drift down her back to the hem of her top, fingering it, deciding.

She stopped him from making that decision by pulling back, stalling his movements.

"Aren't there cameras here?" she asked suddenly, looking around. He couldn't help it; he laughed.

"Not CIA, Jen."

She bit her lip and decided that his response was good enough, continuing to kiss him. Yanking him off of the chair and onto the ridiculously small patch of floor behind his desk that offered them some semblance of privacy.

He landed awkwardly on her, but his weight felt good. Their kisses were longer now, not gentle anymore. Teeth, tongue colliding. More need than anything else. Neither were particularly bothered about their surroundings now, far too wrapped up in one another, too concentrated in getting the others clothes off.

The minute their skin touched, was electric. She felt the shiver run through her, goosebumps up her arms and legs. He smirked, like he knew what she was thinking, moving his lips from her mouth to work their way down her neck, to her collarbone. And down further. She groaned and he paused only briefly, smiling against her skin before continuing on. He clearly knew what he was doing.

And if he didn't know, he was a damn fast learner. Gauging from the sounds she made what she wanted. He pulled her trousers down over her hips, letting her kick them off herself and pushing his own jeans off his legs at the same time.

She gasped when impatience got the better of him and he ripped her panties off her. She looked at the ruined piece of fabric and narrowed her gaze.

"Forceful," she concluded simply, smirking. Tossing her panties away and gasping when his hands ran over her ribs and further down. Up the inside of her thighs, grabbing her legs to make her wrap them around his waist.

She was convinced she was going to scream when he entered her. The anticipation was heavy in the air between them, and she thought it an accomplishment when she bit her lip but made no noise as he slid into her. Though she may have whimpered afterwards.

He felt good and whatever insecurity or hesitation she'd been feeling about this going too fast withered away. Because he _knew_ her. And he knew what she liked. And he was good at giving that to her without her even having to ask.

"God, Jethro," she gasped as his mouth covered a nipple and his hands pinned her to the ground by her hips. Tightening steadily, bruising her.

He was close; his hip movements stalled and then got faster. Every presence of technique disappeared. It was just the two of them, gasping, whimpering. He, if possible, tightened his grip on her as he came. She ... well, she screamed. Quietly, but all the same. He looked proud that he'd managed to make her do such a thing as he pulled himself off her and flopped to her side, completely spent.

"Jesus Christ, Jen ..." was all he said. She grinned, sitting up to gather her clothes. Looking at her ruined panties and deciding to shove them in her coat pocket. Turning to look at him, and finding him still completely naked, lying on the floor.

"If your team find you like that in the morning ... I had nothing to do with it."

He opened one eye, lifted a hand and beckoned her forwards. She crawled towards him, and he sat up to meet her, yanking her head towards him to kiss her. It was more gentle, less lust. She ran her hands through his hair, pulling gently, biting his bottom lip, letting her tongue linger just a little longer in his mouth before pulling back. Sensing a change. He opened his eyes and looked at her.

"Coffee – tomorrow morning. Need to talk to you."

She frowned. "So talk."

He shook his head, not able to prevent himself from smiling. "Not tonight. Not right now." She snorted, agreeing with him. Not really wanting to talk about anything right now. "You goin' home?"

"Yeah ... have to. Gotta start my shift at Metro early tomorrow." He nodded and kissed her once more, lackadaisical. She smiled; she could definitely get used to this. "Get dressed." She pushed him back against the floor and threw his boxers at him, laughing. "Goodnight, Jethro."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6.**

Author Note: Thank you for the reviews, again! I haven't had the time to say thank you to everyone individually, but it doesn't mean I don't appreciate them all the same! :)

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><p>Jenny Shepard stood outside the coffee shop, trying to talk herself into doing this. She'd been unable to sleep all night, thinking of what she'd say to him when she got here. And even after deciding, the words were now lost.<p>

She didn't trust people – it was a vulnerability she just couldn't afford. She'd trusted people in the past, and been burnt. Gibbs was different, she knew that. But it wasn't easy to just knock down a wall that had been up for years.

She felt things for him that she never thought she would've. She liked how simple he made things. He didn't try and explain things or analyse things. He took them at face value. That was refreshing. And when she'd told him about her father, he'd not apologised like most men had – if she'd even told them. There was something behind that tough exterior that had suffered too. That knew pain and didn't like seeing it in other people.

It was with that thought that she pulled the door open, and stepped inside. It was nice and cool indoors, out of the intense sunshine. She spotted his head over the others, in a booth at the back.

All she could do was be honest. If he didn't respond well to what she told him – well, she was trying not to think about that.

* * *

><p>He'd been sitting in the coffee shop for a little less than twenty minutes when she finally arrived, dressed as though she was on her way to work, in tailored trousers, those omnipresent heels and a red blouse. It was a beautiful day outside, and she hadn't bothered with a coat. Her hair was wavier than usual, and his mind sprung to how he'd seen her last night as she'd lay under him; her cheeks flushed, lips bitten and that red hair tousled and messy. Everything below his belt tightened. He shifted uncomfortably.<p>

This was it. The moment he came clean about Pacci. It felt important, somehow, to tell her how the man had died. He'd also seriously considered telling her about Shannon and Kelly, but that was something he just wasn't ready for yet. She was patient with him, regardless, and maybe someday she would know. But not today.

"Good morning," she greeted, popping the lid on the coffee she must've have just bought, and stirring it before replacing the lid and taking a sip. She sighed gratefully and looked at him.

He just smiled. And then she blushed. She seemed to blush quite a bit, but this time he knew why. He wasn't the only one imagining the previous night.

"Pacci," he said slowly, trying to figure out where to begin. She tilted her head to the side, her expression inquiring. She clearly hadn't been expecting that _this_ was what he'd wanted to discuss. "Died because of me."

"You killed him?" she asked sceptically.

"He asked for my help on a case. Couldn't. Was in the middle of one of my own. A week later we found his body. He'd been killed on the same case he'd asked my help with." He shrugged, like it was something he couldn't really help but she could see the guilt flickering in his eyes. She leant forwards and covered his hands where they sat around his coffee cup, with her own.

He looked up at her, confused for a moment, but she didn't respond. What could she possibly say? It wasn't his fault? He didn't need to hear that; deep down he already knew that. She certainly wasn't about to say 'I'm sorry'. Those words were said so often to people that when they were said in complete sincerity, it was never adequate. So they just sat in silence.

Until she cleared her throat. "I have trust issues." He snorted but when he realised that she wasn't kidding, he frowned.

"No you don't." Recalling how she trusted him with this case with it clearly meant a lot to her. You couldn't afford to have trust issues in a law enforcement position. You _had_ to trust your partner. Your team.

"I was engaged once," she began, and it wasn't what he was expecting. He wasn't one for digging into people's pasts but he _was _pretty good at reading people. However, he'd never seen that one coming. "We went to college together. I'd known him a long time before that, though. He'd lived in our street for years." She took a deep breath, frowning. He could see that this was hurting her. "When he asked me to marry him, I was surprised but there was no doubt in my mind that I wanted to marry him." She let go of his hands suddenly, and he missed the warmth. "On the day of my wedding, he ... was caught in bed with my sister. They promptly moved to Spain, telling everyone they were in love. A few weeks later, she returned home, told our mother that what she'd thought was love, really wasn't. My mother welcomed her home with open arms."

He ground his teeth together, angry for her. Everything suddenly fell into place; her anger at her sister, the fact that she seemed resentful about staying with her mother when she was younger, her so-called 'trust issues'. Her father had died and her sister had runaway with her fiancé. He was silent as he let her relive the moment in her life, sensing the relief she was feeling for telling him.

And that was when it hit him. The connection. He'd never taken to a woman so quickly in all his life. Shannon had been beautiful, smart and had had this outlook on life that was refreshing, especially in a place so narrow-minded, like Stillwater had been. But even so, he'd been wary of her. She hadn't seemed real.

Things had changed now. He wasn't the man that had fallen in love with Shannon any more, though he still loved her. He'd changed; death and pain and life's cruelty had forced him to change. Jenny was the only one he'd met recently that actually knew what that meant. That had suffered the same as he had, and had risen from the ashes. She was strong.

In a gesture of support, he mirrored her action from earlier, covering her hands where they were on her own coffee mug. He could feel the tremors running through her body, and sensed that opening up about the pain that her sister and fiancé had caused, was not something she was used to. She felt vulnerable, he could tell. And every single fiber of his being wanted to reassure her that he wasn't going to hurt her like they had.

Her phone bleeped, interrupting the moment, and she extracted herself from his grip, flipping the phone open and holding it to her ear. Smiling gently when she realised who was calling.

"Yeah, I'm on my way, Butch. I'm aware. Well, make your way there, and I'll meet you. Hey! It's a drug-bust, not Disneyland," she snorted at his response and hung up the phone, slipping it into her bag. "I have to go; Agent Welsh – this new guy on our team, and his partner have been working on a big drug bust and called Butch and myself in to help out. Never seen a grown man so excited about catching a heroin junkie." She laughed, and then her smile softened when she looked at him. Her eyes were sparkling and he couldn't help himself; he reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear.

"Jen..."

"You better not say something stupid," she told him, tilting her head warningly.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he stood up and offered a hand to haul her up. Leading her out into the sunshine again, and then around the back to where they'd both parked their vehicles. She spotted his yellow Dodge Charger and smirked.

"Boys and their toys..." she pondered, rolling her eyes and nudging him good-naturedly. Turning the heavy moment into something different. He chuckled, allowing her the dig and then pulled her closer, kissing her.

He was quickly deciding that he liked it when he made her breathless. And she was catching onto it. She shoved him away with a laugh and searched for her keys, unlocking her car and deciding that maybe just this once, she could trust someone else not to hurt her.

* * *

><p>Tony DiNozzo browsed the refrigerated shelves of the hospital cafeteria. In the middle of deciding between a massive slice of chocolate cake, a peach yoghurt or just the cup of coffee that he was currently holding. He was saved from really having to make a choice by his cellphone ringing.<p>

"DiNozzo," he answered, handing his coffee over to the girl behind the cash desk and then searching through his wallet for the money to pay for it.

"Tony? It's Jenny ..." she paused and he took a breath. Why would she be calling him? Maybe she wanted to ask him out. He cackled wickedly beneath his breath. "I need you to bring Ashley in for questioning ..." Okay, maybe not then.

"Yeah, sure. I'm just heading up there as we speak. Just gimme a sec ..." he trailed off.

Jenny made a noise through the phone. "Where exactly are you, Tony?"

"I was in the cafeteria getting coffee. She was with that orderly guy ... um, she's ... not ... here." He turned when he saw the empty bed and walked over to reception. "Do you know where Ashley is?"

The receptionist looked down at the sheet of paper lying on her desk. "She's signed out."

"Signed ... out. And you just let her go?" he asked incredulously. Then he realised he was still on the phone. "Uh, Jenny, we have a problem ..."

Jenny made another noise, something kinda like a snort. "It's fine, Tony. She's ... just shown up at NCIS." And then she hung up.

* * *

><p>Gibbs walked into the bullpen, stalling when he realised that Jenny was in his seat – again. And that she was talking to Ashley.<p>

"What's goin' on?" he asked.

Ashley looked up at him. "I ... I've started to remember a few other things. I asked Steve to bring me in so I could tell you them. We were just waiting for you." She smiled. Gibbs nodded his head and beckoned for Jenny to approach him, away from where Ashley or Steve could hear them.

"Where's Tony?" he asked.

Jenny chuckled. "On his way in from the hospital. He ... uh, he lost Ashley. She ended up here. Good job that Steve was taking care of her."

He watched her, happy that she had returned to her usual happier self, and then shrugged. "You wanna do the questions?"

She raised her eyebrows, her eyes widening. "I'm sorry?"

"Need to get some coffee. Thought you could ... I dunno, take charge ..." he grabbed his coat off the back of the chair and slipped it over his shoulders, hunting around for his badge and gun, and then his wallet. Squeezing her hand as he walked past her in a gesture of support. "McGee, David, you two observe," he told them, as he made his way for the elevator.

Jenny leant down and touched Ashley's shoulder. "How about we go to the break room rather than interrogation, and you can tell me what you remember?" she offered kindly. Ashley nodded and stood up, but paused.

"Do you mind if Steve comes with me? I ... I'm not really used to doing things without him beside me." Steve seemed like he was ready to turn down the offer but Ashley's expression must've been pleading, because he suddenly nodded and stood up. Jenny could hardly turn it down.

When they reached the break room, they pulled up a table and sat down, Jenny allowing Ashley to get comfortable. Wondering how a now-eighteen-year old could be so strong.

"Agent DiNozzo told me about the photos all over my house. It was like a trigger. The rose and the letter that I remember – they were left behind along with the photos." She paused and scanned her brain. "I remember bits and pieces of things before the ... shooting. My mom and dad, they barely ever spoke. My mom was resentful at my dad for making us all move, and the arguing was really bad. There would hardly be a day that went past without some kind of fight."

Steve placed a hand on Ashley's shoulder, squeezing gently. Smiling at her to continue. He removed his hand and clasped both of them in his lap. "My mom told my dad that she was the person on the computer. He went ... crazy. That was the worst argument they ever had. I just ... I wanted it all to end." She swallowed a lump in her throat, as the tears began to cloud her eyes. "I remember taking my father's gun and sitting on the edge of their bed. I ... was going to ..." she didn't need to continue. Jenny reached for her and shook her head gently. She didn't need to remember her family this way. Ashley shrugged off the pain, and her tone lightened. "My father found me just before. He called for my mother, and she started crying. My brother came in, and we told them how much their fighting was hurting us both. They both apologised, said they'd make the effort. We were going to have our Friday movie nights, like we used to when me and Jake were kids..." The mention of her brother caused a wince. "My dad took the gun and we all went into the living room. Jake was choosing the movie .." She frowned, hard. "I was ... making the popcorn and then the back door opened." She paused and then jumped, sharply.

Jenny reached out for her, confused as to why she'd gotten the fright. But Ashley was shaking, and sobbing and scurrying backwards in her seat like she was terrified of Jenny.

"Ashley ... it's okay," she soothed, turning to Steve for some support. But Steve wasn't there.

She turned to look for him, only to find him standing directly behind her, the barrel of his gun pointing directly into her face.

* * *

><p><span>Author Note:<span> I beg you to remember that this is AU, and therefore, the characters are a little different. I believe that in the beginning of this update that Gibbs was a little OOC but they _had_ to have this conversation, and sometimes, in canon, Gibbs has been put in situations we would never have dreamt of him being in (for example, how he hugged his father in 'Heartland') Again, thank you to all the reviews! :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7.**

Author Note: I appreciate the fact that nobody killed me over the course of posting Chapter 6 and getting around to posting Chapter 7. However, I have to tell you that it doesn't get any better in this chapter either. Sorry!

* * *

><p>"<em>Ashley, it's okay..." she soothed, turning to Steve for some support. But Steve wasn't there.<em>

_She turned to look for him, only to find him standing directly behind her, the barrel of his gun pointing directly into her face. _

Jenny stood up quickly, looking around for Ziva and McGee for help. But they couldn't move, because if they did, Steve would most likely shoot them; neither of them had their own weapons on them – it was against NCIS policy to carry your weapon within the agency.

"Don't move..." Steve warned her, keeping his voice low. He looked different to how he'd done at the hospital. His eyes were wilder. Ducky had been accurate when he'd been reading the chat sessions; it did seem that Steve could reel in his obsession and calm down slightly, but only for short periods of time before he snapped. His gaze turned towards Ziva and McGee and he flung them pairs of handcuffs. "Chain yourself to your chairs ... NOW!" he barked, moving the gun to train it on them. Still perfectly able to shoot Jenny if she happened to move.

She could see Ashley in her peripheral vision, her face tear-stained as she cowered beneath the table, shaking. The other two agents done as they were asked of, and when Steve was satisfied that they were unable to move, he turned his gun towards Jenny again.

"Why?" she asked of him, simply. Because it was a fair question.

"I loved her." His voice was hard, cold. Jenny doubted he was even capable of true love. "Every night I'd talk to her through that computer. She was so ... inspiring. She had this unique view of everything. She took me out of the dark. But she refused to speak to me at school. Not a word. She looked at me like she didn't even _know_ me." His voice became strained. "I loved her and she treated me like _filth,_" he spat the last word at Ashley who flinched away from him, her tears pouring faster down her cheeks. "I never wanted to hurt you, Ashley.." he said softly, reaching out, smoothing down her hair. Ashley closed her eyes tightly, her muscles tensing at his touch.

"You killed her family!" Jenny shouted at him, her attempt to distract him from Ashley. "You almost killed her!"

"I didn't _want_ to!" he answered, almost before she'd finished speaking. "I had no choice. Those people were poisoning her. I saw her with that gun in the bedroom. I had to stop her from doing something stupid... I had to save her. But she changed her mind. Once I'd killed her family, she changed her mind. She didn't want me anymore!" He paused and turned towards McGee and Ziva. "Hey! What are you doing?" He sounded desperate, panicked. He lifted his gun, and pointed it at Ziva. McGee shouted, but it was too late; the bullet hit Ziva's abdomen, just above her right hipbone. She buckled in pain, her face white in a second.

Behind Jenny, she could hear the screaming and panic that ensued within the agency at the sound of the gunshot. She had no doubt that the agency was in the middle of evacuating right now. That nobody was about to come to their rescue until the building was emptied.

She had to get Ziva to a hospital.

She shouted on Steve, getting his attention. "Hey ... you shouldn't have done that," she told him, keeping her voice calm. "The building's on high alert now, the shutters will be coming down any second, and you won't get out of here." He smiled sarcastically.

"Neither will you."

She nodded, shrugging. "Don't care 'bout me. You can have me, but Agent David, she needs immediate medical attention or she's dead. I'm begging you, let her out of this building and I'll give you whatever you want." He seemed to consider that, and for a second, she thought he was going to fold. But he shook his head, that cruel smile back on his face again.

* * *

><p>Leroy Jethro Gibbs took a sip of his coffee as he turned the car into the street that led onto NCIS headquarters. He thought it to his testament that he was able to drive his car and drink from a coffee cup at the same time, but that thought withered away when he noticed how the entire street was occupied with people. Then there were SWAT teams, and an FBI van and he was sure he spotted Fornell. And Metro were here? He swallowed back the bile in his throat and abandoned his car, running towards the building, stopping when he spotted his senior agent standing on the grass, talking to a tall, burly looking man.<p>

"Tony!" he barked, and the man lifted his head and winced.

"Boss, I've been trying to call you for the last twenty minutes. This is Agent Jake Bradford, from Metro." The name clicked.

"You're Jenny's partner..." Gibbs realised, nodding his head respectfully, turning back to Tony. "What the hell is going on here?"

Tony exchanged a painful glance with Bradford and then bit his lip. "Evacuation. I was in the bullpen – nobody was there. Then there were these shots – break room, I think. I was about to investigate, but it was like a goddamn tidal wave of people, and security won't let me back in the building." A helicopter sounded overhead, and whatever he was going to say died on his lips at the enormity of the situation. The whole of NCIS was evacuated. He frowned. Jenny, Ziva, McGee were nowhere to be found. And it couldn't be a coincidence that the break room nearest their bullpen was where the hostage situation was taking place – because he didn't believe in coincidences. That left Ashley as the suspect with the gun. He shook his head to himself; that wasn't even possible.

And then he got it. Steve Wilson. The orderly.

"Tony, got your phone?"

"Yeah." He whipped it out.

"Do a background check on Steve Wilson ..." he demanded, moving away. Looking for Fornell.

He found him standing near the entrance, conversing with Director Morrow, who looked haggard and agitated. He fixed Gibbs with a warning look which Gibbs ignored. It wasn't the time. He knew Morrow was probably furious for not having been briefed on this case, and what it entailed, but honestly, there hadn't been the time and it was far too late now. He'd seek forgiveness later, if it was necessary.

"Plan, Tobias," he demanded.

Fornell turned to him, and answered promptly. "We're setting up SWAT teams around the building. The break room has windows only along one side, so it's not easy, but the team will be going inside too; he's not getting outta there alive, Jethro."

"Yeah. You're damn right he's not." He stormed over to Tony again, and demanded the information he'd been looking for.

"Steve Wilson went to Ashley's school, Boss. He's been prescribed anti-depressants in the past, has been to counselling ... he's a train-wreck. He's been shop lifting and selling drugs and all-sorts since he was a kid." Gibbs didn't wait to hear the rest of the list. He was already at the entrance to the building when a security guard stopped him.

"Excuse me, Sir, you can't go in there..."

Gibbs tilted his head. "Wanna bet?"

"Excuse me," the third voice was one Gibbs didn't immediately recognise. "I'm sorry, I don't know your name..." Gibbs turned to see Agent Jake Bradford – the man that Jenny had so aptly named 'Butch', standing beside him, addressing the man that was preventing Gibbs from entering the building.

"Agent Laird, Sir," he replied.  
>"Agent Laird," Bradford repeated. "I've been asked to cover you. You are in charge of the back entrance, round the corner on the right ... 'bout the third door along," he dictated and indicated along the side of the building. Agent Laird looked at Gibbs, but Bradford chuckled. "Don't worry about him. I'll make sure he doesn't get in."<p>

Agent Laird moved away from the door, around the side and once he was out of view, Bradford turned to Gibbs. "SWAT teams are travelling from the left and the right of the break room in about ..." he checked his watch. "Ah, thirty seconds. You get a head-start. Bring Jenny out here in one piece, Gibbs." His warning was clear, and Gibbs suddenly realised why Jenny trusted the man standing in front of him. He nodded, but said nothing else, disappearing inside the doors and taking the stairs two at a time.

By the time he reached his floor, he was breathless. The place felt eerie without the usual hustle and bustle. Everything was exactly as it had been left; paperwork and coffee cups sitting on the desks, monitors flicking through photographs of cases, someone's desk phone began to ring.

Gibbs moved through the bullpen to the back corridor, trying to keep as quiet as possible, knowing that if Steve heard him coming, everything could be a whole lot more dangerous than it already was.

The sight of Ashley, McGee and Ziva in the break room alone made him lower his weapon, approaching McGee and helping him out the handcuffs. That's when he noticed the blood.

"Ziva," he tapped her face gently, bringing her back from the brink of passing out. Her olive skin was a sickly white colour; she'd lost a lot of blood. He released her too and looked at McGee, about to put the entirety of his faith in the hands of the youngest member of his team.

"McGee, get Ziva and Ashley out of here. Use the stairs, and exit through the front door. Get Ziva to a hospital as soon as possible – we clear?"

McGee nodded, letting Ziva lean heavily on his shoulders and beckoning Ashley to lead the way. Just as they were about to move from his point of view, McGee turned. "She's in interrogation, Gibbs. Jenny and Steve, they're in interrogation."

Gibbs watched the three of them move away, and took a deep breath. He lifted his gun once more and began to move.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8. **

Author Note: Well, the last chapter was pretty intense – this chapter doesn't really die down on the intensity ... Oh, and the beginning of this chapter kinda goes back in time a little ...

* * *

><p>Steve Wilson stood by the window of the break room, glancing out every now and again. The people that he could see flooding into the street looked like ants from this height. He had to get away from the window.<p>

He turned and took in the scene. The agent he'd shot was barely conscious – she would die soon. The other one was looking around, probably for a way out. Ashley was still cowered beneath the table; she probably wouldn't move until somebody forced her to. Jenny was sitting on the edge of the break room table, swinging her legs. Looking careless.

He had to think fast. The helicopters were beginning to circle and there was no doubt that one of them would get a clear shot if he just stood by the window.

He turned to Jenny. "You," he addressed her. Levelling the gun, pointing his arm out and indicating to one of the corridors. "Interrogation room, now." She jumped off the desk and looked at him, then at the corridor. Doing as he indicated, seeing it as an opening to get Ziva out of the agency and hopefully into an ambulance.

She found the first interrogation room, and was about to open the door when the gun pressed against her shoulder stopped her. "Observation," he told her. They stepped into the dark room and she turned towards him, frowning. "There's no windows in here."

She pulled up a seat and sat down, watching him do the same.

There was something very calm about this hostage situation. She didn't feel scared or shaky like she imagined she would. She just felt tired. She thought about Jethro, who was probably standing outside, trying to get into the building, no doubt. She then thought about Butch. Those two men were the only people she had in her life that she truly trusted, that she could tell anything to.

For a split second, she understood Steve.

"Why did you do it? Why did you kill them all?" she asked him, needing to hear the honest truth without anyone being around to overhear them. Steve looked up, his eyes dark and ablaze with anger.

"I found out that I was talking to Ashley's mother; Elizabeth. Some poor woman spilling her guts to me. Hardly.." his tone was sarcastic, scathing. Whoever said that hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, had never met this man. "They _played_ me. Made me fall in love with someone that didn't have a clue who I was." Jenny frowned, confused. Nothing that Steve said made any sense – not really. "I wasn't about to be a pawn. Nobody was going to ridicule me and play me like that." His expression seemed to go blank as he recalled the details of the night when this all began. "I just wanted to see her; Ashley. Take her away from the family that were punishing her. That were hurting her. I told her we could just pack up our things and run away." The twist of his mouth was cruel. "She didn't want me. I told her that either she died, or her family died. She begged me to kill her, but ..." he shrugged carelessly. "I decided to do both – kinda."

Jenny snorted, deciding to tease him, if that was his pressure point. "Kinda? You failed, Steve. Or should I call you Romeo? How original, by the way." She chuckled. His eyes darkened impossibly and she saw him clench his fist. "You let her live. You're patheti-"

"SHUT UP!" His shout startled her. "If you want yourself, and your friends out there to live, I suggest you get me a way out. A helicopter on the roof."

Jenny shook her head. "I don't have the authority to do that, Steve. I'm not NCIS. _But,_" she stressed, "I do know someone that does. I'm going to need a phone."

* * *

><p>Leroy Jethro Gibbs was in the process of navigating the corridors to interrogation, when his cellphone rang. He flipped it open, not recognising the number on caller ID and spoke his name.<p>

"Jethro ..." her voice was quiet, careful.

"Jenny?" he almost couldn't believe it. She didn't even sound particularly frightened. But it was damn good to hear her. "Where are you?"

"He has a condition that, in order to get the team and myself out safely, he's going to need; a helicopter." Gibbs narrowed his gaze, approaching the interrogation rooms carefully and quietly, lowering his voice to make sure he wasn't heard.

"Can't, Jen. Put him on." There were voices speaking on her end, and then she came back on.

"He doesn't want to speak to you."

"Jen, I don't know where you are ... McGee said interrogation but I don't know which room..." He heard a pause then a small 'hmm' and a grunt as someone seemed to fall over. He was about to ask if she was okay, when he heard it; the scrape of a chair across a hard floor. His ears managed to direct him to the third interrogation room along the corridor. "I'm outside, Jenny. You want me to come in ..."

The phone was deadly silent, and he checked to see if she was still on the line, before realising she was and pressing the phone back to his ear. Her response was quiet and he wasn't sure if he imagined it or not.

"Hey," she said. Her voice was choked, hoarse. She swallowed. "You hear me? Hey," Her voice was clearer the second time around.  
><em>"You know ...if you, uh, if you ever need me ... all you have to do is say 'hey', and I'll be there." <em>His own words echoed around his head, and he found it hard to swallow. He turned the door handle for interrogation as quietly and carefully as he could, finding nobody inside. Realising they would be in observation, and that, if he wasn't careful, Steve would see Gibbs and shoot at him, or Jenny, before Gibbs could do a goddamn thing about it.

* * *

><p>Jenny couldn't help the relief that swept through her when she saw Gibbs edge into the interrogation behind Steve's line of vision. His gun was raised but she soon realised that he couldn't seen into the observation room, he was flying blind.<p>

And then she realised that Steve was speaking with her.

"Why did you do that?" he asked accusingly, pointing his gun to the phone that he just gave her. "What does 'hey' mean?"

Jenny tilted her head, amused. "It's – last time I checked – a form of greeting."

"NO!" he bellowed. "You're planning something!" He began to pace, panicked. He turned to her and raised his gun. There was no mistaking what he was about to do.

"You want to shoot me?" she asked, raising her voice. Realising that if she could shout loud enough, maybe Gibbs would hear her. He'd been a sniper, or so he'd told her. It was entirely possible that those skills would help. "Shoot me!"

"Don't tempt me," Steve said, his voice low and deadly.

"I said shoot me!" she repeated, her voice practically yelling. "That's what you want right? So do it! Come on _Romeo_, SHOOT ME."

The glass shattered behind him and everything became a blur.

* * *

><p>Gibbs jumped through the space where the glass had previously been, standing on the shattered pieces, and bending down to the dishevelled body of Steve Wilson as he lay in a pool of his own blood.<p>

Checking for a pulse though he knew he'd have none. The man was dead.

"Jesus Christ Jen..." he said after a moment, looking up at her, preparing himself for her looking extremely relieved that he'd managed to get the shot right.

Instead what he saw made him sick.

Jenny Shepard was sprawled, halfway down the wall. The blood behind her that was smeared down the wall was a clear indication that she'd been hit – if the bullet wound in her stomach hadn't confirmed that for him.

"Jen," he grabbed for her, sitting her up, calling a paramedic. She looked up at him, and he could see it, the life in her eyes just disappearing. He put pressure on her wound and hoped that someone would find him before it was too late.


End file.
